


What We Leave Behind

by ComtessePlume



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Escape, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Rescue, Smut, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComtessePlume/pseuds/ComtessePlume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound helps Sansa to Escape from the Red Keep and Kings Landing after rescuing her from being raped during the riot in Kings Landing. Remembering how he had suffered at his brother's hands, he takes her away from the pain and the suffering. Sansa sees a different side to him and together they learn to forget the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever SanSan fic. I don't know quite how this will go, but please let me know if you like it!

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

The street around them erupted into chaos and violence.

They were chasing her, coming for her, no matter how fast she ran, no matter where she turned. She was trapped, nowhere to turn. Panic rose in her, choking her. She tried to scream but it wouldn’t come, her throat froze. Grubby fingers clawed at her, pinning her to the ground, tearing at her clothing. Hands creeping higher and higher under her ruined skirts, scratching at her delicate flesh, ripping into her, her hot blood spilling across her cool skin. Tears ran across her face, stinging the cuts that were already there. She fought back with all her strength, trying to push them off her, but to no avail, but she couldn’t give up, she had to keep fighting.

Then there was one less, he was hauled off her. The others were loosening their grip on her, until he stood in front of her, sword bloodied, his hand out to her, his expression intense, his brown eyes daring her to refuse to take his hand. Sweat plastering his messy dark hair to the scarred side of his face. She reached out and grasped his hand, his strength pulling her to her feet, then when her knees buckled, hauling her onto his shoulder. The solidity of him calmed her, his strong arm clamped her, holding her safe. 

\---

Back in her comfortable room in the Red Keep, Sansa dismissed her handmaidens once they had drawn her bath and lit a fire, despite their protestations. Grimacing, she pulled off her filthy, torn dress, balling it up and throwing it in the corner in disgust. Her soiled smallclothes were next, thrown on top, blood from the scratches on her thighs smeared on her shift. A whole set of clothes, ruined!

She hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her pale nakedness, willing the last day to have never happened. The memory of how those men had leered at her, followed her, chased her! The way they had laid their hands on her, the unspeakable things they would have done if he hadn’t come…

She sighed, letting go of herself and climbing into the bathtub, relishing the way the sting of the steaming water seemed to burn away the memory of hands creeping higher. The smell of herbs filled the air, stirred into the water by her maids, soothing her tight muscles and hurt senses.

The day’s events had been as educating as they had been terrifying. She had been seconds away from losing her virtue, yet her betrothed had done nothing to save her. Instead a man who others mocked and called ‘dog’ had come to her rescue. A man who was nothing like the knights of her stories, a man who was frightening and brutal had been the only one who had come back for her. A man who was no Ser had been the one to rescue her. 

Starting at the top, she sluiced water through her hair, rinsing the dirt of the street from the red strands. Then she began to wash her body, her face first, cleansing the dried tears from her cheeks. She ran her hands over her skin, soothing her brutalised flesh. Her hands massaged where they had touched her, watching as the bruises began to appear in flourishes of red and purple; around her ankles and wrists she wore dark, painful bracelets, marks appeared on her waist, her breasts where frantic hands had grasped. She rubbed away the blood from the scratches on her thighs, taking her time. She wanted to feel completely cleansed.

A noise behind her startled her, making her shriek in alarm. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her, twisting round, eyes wide in fear. What if they were coming for her again?! What if…?

His hulking figure filled the doorway, brown eyes fixed on her blue ones, his expression unreadable. The firelight flickered across his scars. At any other time she would have screamed in fear, but not now, she didn’t feel like screaming now. She had done enough screaming for today and, although a man bursting into her chamber while she bathed was cause to make her scream, she instinctively felt that she was safe with him. His huge presence oddly comforting despite the situation.

She stayed still as he broke eye contact and closed the door softly behind him, such a big man, such strength, yet capable of such gentleness. She kept her eyes fixed on him as he walked around the bathtub and seated himself on the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, his leather, mail and plate looking out of place against the fine pink wool of the blanket under him.

‘Can I help you, Ser?’ She found her voice, timid, shaky, and slightly rougher than usual from the screaming. 

‘I am no Ser, Little Bird, how many times do I have to tell you.’ He sighed. His voice was deep, rasping, with something there that she hadn’t detected in him before. It was as if he was dropping the mask that he wore slightly. It was as if the Hound was not the dangerous dog he had led her to believe he was, but rather the dog was loyal, caring, the kind of hound that slept at your feet and ate from your hand under the table. His voice softened yet again. ‘We haven’t much time. Hurry.’

He pulled a bundle from under his cloak and laid it on the bed, then took the drying sheet from the end of the bed and held it out to Sansa, pointedly turning away from her. She took the sheet from his outstretched arm and he turned completely into the corner, eyes closed. Quickly she stood up, wrapping the fabric tightly about her.

‘You can turn around now, Se…. My Lo… what do I call you?’

‘Later,’ he turned to face her again, ‘We have to hurry. Your father was executed, your mother and brothers killed, your sister is Seven only know where. You have no one. Today proved just how dangerous this city is for you, Little Bird. It’s time to fly from your gilded cage.’

‘I can’t!’ Her eyes widened, ‘Joffrey is my betrothed! My one true…!’ 

A snort of derision silenced her. At her mention of the boy-King’s name, his brown eyes darkened, a flash of disgust crossing his face.

‘You don’t have to lie to me. I’ve seen how he hurts you, how he has his so-called Kingsguard brutalise you. If you truly love him then you’re a fool,’ he spat. Then his voice softened, ‘and you may be many things, Little Bird, but you’re no fool.’

Sansa couldn’t respond. Everything that she had experienced in Kings Landing conditioned her to fear for herself, that agreeing with him would mean more beatings and cruelty. But this was the man who had protected her, who had never done anything unless it was to remove her from that pain. She nodded quickly, decisively. She would go with him.

He held out the contents of his bundle to her, turning his back again as she took them. There was a clean cotton shift and smallclothes, a brown woollen gown, simple leather shoes, a dark cloak and a length of white cloth. Quickly she pulled on the clothes, wondering what to do with the cloth. He took it from her and wrapped her long red hair up in it, in the same way she’d seen the cooks at Winterfell do to keep their hair out of the food. 

She hurriedly filled the empty bundle with a fresh gown, her plainest, grey silk, along with clean linen. She put her pouch of jewels among the cloth, and a small bag of coins. Lastly, she added her comb, a beautiful bone one, inlaid with silver swirls. Her father had given it to her for her tenth nameday, telling her with a strange look in his eye that it had once belonged to her Aunt Lyanna. It was too valuable to leave behind. Casting one last look around her chamber, she put on the cloak, pulling the hood up.

He was already at the door with it open a crack, peering down the passage outside. He turned and saw her, waiting and ready, her bundle clasped close under her drab cloak and her glorious red hair tied up under a wrap of white cloth. 

‘Keep your head down, don’t talk, do exactly as I say, and trust me, Little Bird, you will be safe.’ He took her hand and pulled her behind him down the passage, his feet making little sound. They made it down the stairs, across the main corridor and into another little staircase that Sansa had never seen. She supposed it was for the maids and cupbearers. Still he pulled her behind him, down the stairs to a small wooden door which opened onto the kitchen courtyard. It was dark. Scullions and pot boys passed them, but if they thought anything of seeing the Hound dragging a woman behind him, they said nothing. Sansa supposed he frightened them just as much as he used to frighten her.

She realised that they were heading for the Water Gate when she heard the soldiers. They had been drinking from the sound of their raucous laughter, howls and guffaws rising into the night sky. His hand tightened on hers.

‘Keep your head down. If you could give them some tears, that might help. Trust me.’ Then he pulled her on. She didn’t have to try to cry, she couldn’t help herself. Fear gripped her as tears ran hot down her face, her head down under the hood of her cloak. The soldiers were Lannister men from their uniforms, their swords and helmets discarded as they laughed and joked.

‘What have you got there Clegane?!’ the words from the shorter of the two made her shiver. They would be caught. The tears came harder and she couldn’t help but let out a sob.  
‘Out of my way Noll.’ The Hound replied. ‘I can’t be arsed dealing with the like of you tonight, I’ve other things to be doing.’ And with that he tugged on Sansa’s arm, making her cry out and stumble. The two Lannister guards laughed in a way that made her skin crawl.

‘You might enjoy it Clegane, but from the looks of things I don’t think she will. Come on sweetheart, you don’t want a dog, you want a proper lion!’ the other grabbed hold of her other arm, just above the elbow, and pulled. She clung to her bundle with all her strength, eyes wide with fear.

‘Hands off Kevan,’ the Hound growled, ‘you may be a Lannister by-blow, but this bitch is mine.’

The two men laughed at him, until the familiar rasp of steel told her than the Hound had begun to draw his sword. The laughter stopped. The two men stepped back and Sansa was pulled onwards, towards the Water Gate.

A small rowing boat waited for them. Sansa huddled in the bottom of it, guarding her bundle and wiping her tears, thanking the Seven and the Old Gods for keeping them safe thus far. She stayed where she was, feeling the rock of the little boat as the Hound cast off and began to row them across Blackwater Bay. It was only when she heard his voice that she looked up.

‘You’re alright, Little Bird. We’re safe now.’


	2. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa are safe, but there are so many emotions to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos! I'm very happy with how this fic is coming... and lemons soon, I promise, the plot bunny just had some emotional stuff to get out of the way first!

The cabin was small but cosy. He had insisted she take the feather bed that nestled against one wall, promising her in his gruff way that he had slept in far worse places than a borrowed bedroll on the floor of a ship’s cabin. A plain table and two chairs stood against another wall, a washbasin on a stand in another corner. Sansa looked out of the porthole at the ocean, smelling the tang of the salt. He was kind and gentle with her, well, as kind and gentle as the Hound could be, but he was absolute on one point; she was not to leave the cabin without him. The Braavosi merchantman was short-handed, meaning that her rescuer was often pressed into service on deck. She had at least been able to change into her grey silk gown, her rough woollen disguise bundled in the cloak and stored under the bed. At least she felt more like her old self. 

Sansa sighed, wondering why they called it the Narrow Sea. As far as she could tell it certainly wasn’t narrow. They had been at sea for three days and there was still no sign of even as much as a spit of land. All she could see from the porthole was sea and sky, there weren’t even any sea birds. The captain had brought wine to their cabin last night and told them that the sky lacked even a breath of wind. He had laughed, as if he had dealt with this many times, but Sansa was bored. She wished she had thought to bring a book, or some embroidery, but time had been short and there had been no time to pack anything but the essentials.

Instead she picked up her Aunt’s comb, running her index finger over the smooth bone and traced the silver swirls. She untied the ribbon at the end of her braid, loosened her hair and began to comb. The familiar sensation soothed her, calming her frayed nerves. Her mother had always combed her hair when she had been a little girl and for a moment it was almost as if she were back at Winterfell, sat at Catelyn Stark’s feet, her head resting on her lap, her eyes closed as the smooth teeth of the comb were stroked rhythmically through the locks of her hair.

Her hands stilled involuntarily. The thought came to her like it had every day since they had fled Kings Landing. She had left everything. Everything that she had ever known. Would she ever see Winterfell again? Would she ever walk in the Godswood or stroll through the town? She had no idea. All she knew was that she trusted him, for what that would get her.   
She looked up as the door opened. He looked strange without his familiar mail and leather and plate. Instead he wore a simple linen shirt over his leather breeches, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. She watched him silently as he entered the cabin and walked to the washbasin, resuming combing her hair as he splashed water over his face. He was silent most of the time, and Sansa was glad of it. What would they have to talk about? She was a highborn lady, the daughter of one of the oldest families in Westeros, and while he was the son of a noble family, they were a lesser house, he was the second son and he had been brought up in violence. She had no idea why he had helped her, or what he thought to get out of it, but they were of different worlds. Sansa wondered briefly if he wanted what soldiers wanted when they kept a woman with them. She didn’t suppose it mattered any more. She was the daughter of an attainted traitor, the sister of another. She wanted to feel something about what had happened, but all that was there was a numbness and a faint sense of nostalgia, of wondering what might have been. Nothing more.

He pulled off his shirt and dried his face with it. Sansa averted her eyes like a proper highborn lady should, turning to gaze once more on the endless blue and grey. Sea and sky and nothing more. She would accept her fate, she would repay his kindness, she would be grateful that she wasn’t dead in Joffrey’s court of madness, her head on a spike like her father’s, where she was sure she would have ended her days.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandor Clegane was wracked with nerves. He had to admit that this was the first time he had felt like this since he had been a green boy before his first battle. The Hound, Joffrey’s dog, was never afraid or nervous. He hadn’t thought twice about spiriting his Little Bird away after hearing Joffrey’s command to leave Sansa, he had gone after her, rescued her, killed those vile excuses for men for what they were trying to do to her, what they would have done to her. He had grabbed what he needed, made it look to the men he saw around the Red Keep that he was off to spend the evening at a brothel and then hurried to her rooms. His heart had almost stopped when he found her in the bath, as naked as her nameday, bruises forming on her perfect pale skin. It had taken not one second thought to push ahead with the plan to get her out of Kings Landing, she had looked so vulnerable, so empty almost, like some of the glitter had gone out of her eyes. She reminded him of how his sister had looked as she had gotten older, as Gregor had inflicted his perverse cruelty on her. Sandor had just wanted to gather her in his arms and tell her she would be alright.

Instead he had kept that hidden side in check. He didn’t know why Sansa Stark had reignited that tiny spark within him, but she had. When she had come to Kings Landing, he had seen that same vulnerability; a dutiful daughter come to do her father’s bidding, her head stuffed with romantic nonsense about knights and chivalry and honour by her septa since she was old enough to understand the tales. Yet he had seen some of the she-wolf in her that all the Stark women seemed to possess. A sparkle in her eye that showed her lively spirit lurking just beneath the surface, a defiance that she had to fight to control, that would have led to Joffrey putting her head on a spike between her father’s and her septa’s had she let it show. He may be a deformed monster, Sandor thought to himself, but he had had the courage to get her away from Joffrey’s cruelty, and for that he felt like a good man. She was too beautiful, too pure to be tarnished by the filth of that place. The sex and death of Kings Landing were no surroundings for his Little Bird. Instead he would take her to the safety of Braavos. What he would do with her once they were there he had no idea.

He splashed water over his face, feeling the ridges of scarred flesh that Gregor had put there and his anger welled up. His childhood had been truly awful, the scars on his face the worst of many injuries inflicted on him by his brother. He scowled into the washbasin, then pulled his shirt over his head and dried his face with it.

Stripped to the waist, he turned, to see Sansa averting her gaze, her fingers running her comb through her hair, hands moving mechanically. He reached to his bundle and pulled a fresh shirt out, tugging it over his head. She didn’t move. He went to the table, pulled out one of the rough wooden chairs and sat down. She still didn’t move. He sighed.  
‘Little Bird…’ his voice sound too loud in the small cabin. She jumped, startled out of her reverie, and her pretty comb fell from her fingers. He stood, crossed to her, bent to pick it up and then held it out to her. She took it silently, then tucked it safely into the neckline of her gown. The sparkle was still gone from her eyes. She looked like an empty vessel. As gently as he could he took her hands and guided her to sit on the edge of the feather bed, then pulled his chair so he could sit before her, leaning towards her with what he hoped was his kindest expression on his face.

‘Little Bird, we need to talk…’ he started, but he couldn’t finish. Sansa had leaned forward, put her hands on his knees and placed the gentlest of kisses on his lips. He froze as he felt her soft, warm skin against his own. She kissed him softly at first, her inexperienced lips caressing his own in such a timid way. Then when he didn’t move, she deepened the kiss, her pure pink lips tugging at his mouth almost in desperation. He couldn’t help but notice his body responding, his cock hardening uncomfortably, confined in his breeches. He had never had a woman kiss him like this before, they usually wanted nothing to do with his face. Sandor wanted nothing more but to pull her slim body to him, wrap his arms around her and disappear into her purity and goodness. He wanted nothing more than to take her to the soft feather bed, to free his aching cock from his breeches and to put the sparkle back into her eyes, but he stopped. Taking her wrists, he pulled her gently away from him, settling her back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He fixed her eyes with his, blue meeting brown.

‘Sansa… why…?’ his voice was gruff, his head swimming with arousal, but he had to get through the wall, through the numbness, through the nothing. She broke eye contact, her gaze fixed on her lap, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks.

‘I… I thought that’s what you wanted. Isn’t that why you rescued me… Ser?’ She was quiet, almost whispering. She’s mad, Sandor thought to himself, as he saw a single tear run down her face. His cock softened instantly. He fought the anger that rose, that she had been so afraid that this was what the price of her freedom would be. His instinct was to shout, to ask her what sort of man she thought she was, but instead, he took a deep breath and leant forward again.

‘Little Bird, I’m no Ser, no chivalrous knight, neither am I the sort of man who would take away your maiden’s gift as payment for what chivalry I have shown you. I brought you away from danger, but I don’t want anything you don’t truly wish to give me, and I don’t think that I am what you want.’

Sansa pulled a dainty handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her tears, then deliberately looked him in the eyes. When she spoke, her voice was so small.

‘I don’t know what to call you. I can’t call you the Hound…’ her voice trailed off.

‘My name, Little Bird, is Sandor.’ He attempted to smile. 

‘Sandor…’ she tried it out, ‘Sandor… where are we going?’

‘We’re going to Braavos, to start with. I don’t know where we’ll go once we’re there though.’ He sighed. ‘Really Sansa, I would not harm you. You should be somewhere safe and beautiful, where you can be happy, where you can have pretty things. Where you can find a decent husband and have beautiful children.’ He drooped as he said it. She wouldn’t have all of those things with him.

‘You’ve been so kind to me… Sandor. You’re not like everyone says. It was Joffrey that was the monster.’ Sansa stood, leaned down and kissed his ruined cheek, ‘And maybe I don’t know what I want yet, but I know I’m safe with you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please let me know what you think!


	3. False Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been almost a year since I updated this fic! Unfortunately life got in the way, and even more unfortunately it was in the form of a car crash that ive had to take some time to recover from.
> 
> A short chapter here to ease me back in. Please let me know if you like it!

Their meal that night was nothing special. Salt beef stew in wooden bowls on a tray brought to their cabin by one of the ship’s boys. The captain had sent a flask of Arbor red, with two silver cups, and a small lemon cake, although heaven knew where he had got it. Sansa’s eyes had lit up at that. She had arranged the food on the table and they had eaten their stew in companionable silence.

Something had changed just in a matter of hours. Sansa had felt such a fool when he had pushed her away from him. It was clear that she had misread both him and the situation, but where she had expected him to be cruel and mocking, he was kind. When she had kissed him she had expected him to be rough and hard, but his lips were surprisingly soft. The way he had responded to her kisses, leaned into her, kissed her back. There had been an unfamiliar tingle deep in her belly, a heat between her legs. It had surprised her, she hadn’t expected to, but she wanted to kiss him again.

She finished her stew and pushed the wooden bowl away. It had been delicious. She watched as Sandor scraped the last of the gravy into his mouth and then did the same. She smiled at him, then picked up both bowls and put them onto the tray on the floor by the cabin door. As she turned back around, she saw that he was pouring wine into the two silver cups. He pushed one across to her as she sat back down. Sansa picked up the cup delicately and sipped tentatively. She had never tasted Arbor red before, her father had preferred the Dornish wines and she hadn’t particularly liked the taste, but this was so very different. It tasted just how she thought summer would taste, a slight sweetness belying the sharp sourness. It was rich and dark red, it smelled like nectar, and she liked it. She took a larger sip, enjoying the taste.

‘Mmm!’ It slipped out from her lips before she could stop herself. She looked up to find Sandor looking at her with an amused expression on her face. She blushed and giggled.  
‘I’ve never had Arbor red before!’

He smiled and pushed the lemon cake towards her. In turn she picked up the cake and broke it in half, pushing one half back towards him.

‘I’ve never had a lemon cake before…’ he looked surprised. She bit into her half. The familiar tang of citrus filling her mouth, overwhelming her tastebuds. Sansa smiled across the table as her companion bit into his half. She swallowed.

‘They’re my favourites. Do you like it?’ She asked, eyes inquisitive.

Sandor thought for a moment, enjoying the slight sweeness and sharp citrus burst in his mouth. It was unlike anything he had tasted before, so unlike his usual rough fare. He decided that he liked it, his tastebuds begging for more.

‘Yes, Little Bird, I do.’ He took another bite, finishing his half of the cake before washing the sweetness out of his mouth with a gulp of the wine. He stood and stooped to fetch his bedroll, meaning to unroll it on the floor by the door, but Sansa’s hand on his arm stopped him.

‘You can’t keep sleeping on that thin mat, Sandor, you’ll ache all over.’ She paused, unsure about what she was going to say next, but she carried on, ‘you can sleep on the featherbed. There’s enough room for two…’

‘Sansa… I can’t… think of your honour…’ he started but she cut him off.

‘Sandor, we’re on a Braavosi ship, we’re sharing a cabin… and if you hadn’t come for me in Flea Bottom, my so-called honour would be naught. I owe it to my rescuer for him to be comfortable, so please, sleep in the bed.’ She was insistent. 

Sandor sighed, nodding in agreement. He sat back down, starting to remove his boots. Sansa followed suit, slipping off her slippers, before unlacing her dress and stepping out of it. She smoothed the grey silk and folded it carefully, placing it over the back of the wooden chair and sliding into bed in her shift.

He took his time, carefully placing the silver cups and the flagon back on the tray, then extinguishing the candles. Once the cabin was dark, he climbed beneath the blankets, being careful to stay close to the edge. The feather bed was large enough that he could barely sense Sansa other than the small noise of her breathing. After days of sleeping on the floor, his tired muscles welcomed the soft mattress underneath him and sleep took him quickly.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sansa woke as the light streamed through the cabin window. She was warm, warmer than she should be, and she couldn’t move. She tried to move, to roll over, but something held her fast. Scowling, she pulled the blanket back. There, draped over her and clamped around her waist was a very large, very male arm. She froze. How could she extricate herself from this without waking him?

He stirred, nuzzling into her hair with a contented growl. Sansa stayed completely still, trying to feign sleep so that when he woke, as he was clearly about to do, she wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment, along with his inevitable hot temper.

She could feel him though, the heat of his body, the firm planes of his muscles through his shirt, the scratching of his beard against her neck, his soft, sleepy breathing stirring her hair where he nuzzled into her, the hardness of his manhood against her buttocks where he spooned up against her. She allowed herself to relax, to enjoy the warmth, silencing her Septa’s warnings about men, lust and carnal acts that rang through her consciousness, shrill like the ringing of a sept’s bell.

Suddenly he began to stir, his arm tightening about her, pulling her body against him. She stayed perfectly still.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Sandor woke to find his face full of hair, his arm clamped possessively round a feminine form, his cock uncomfortably hard.

His eyes shot open. He had embraced her in his sleep and now his cock was as hard as iron pressed against her pert backside! How in seven hells had this happened?! At least she was still asleep. Gently and carefully he extricated himself from their unconscious embrace, watching as he allowed her body to relax back into the soft mattress.

Gazing down at her slumbering form, red hair tangled in an unruly mess, her thin cotton shift moulding itself to her form, Sandor became acutely aware of his own need. Like all men he woke hard, but it wasn’t often that he woke up wrapped around a female. The scent of her hair still filled his nostrils and the front of his shirt was still warm from where he had held her body against him.

Sandor retreated to the furthest corner of the cabin and watched her. Her chest rose and fell, her limbs remained still. She slept on.

Releasing himself from his breeches he took himself in hand, remembering how good her backside had felt pushed against his groin, how female her hair smelled. He moved his hand up and down his shaft roughly, imagining what it would feel like if it were her small hand on him. The thought tipped him over the edge, his seed landing on the wooden planks of the cabin floor as he released with the quietest moan he could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed - who wouldn't love waking up pressed up against the Hound?!
> 
> Please please let me know what you think! I will start working on the next chapter just as soon as ive hit the button to post this!
> 
> love you all  
> Sandor's Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this! More to come!


End file.
